TEXT
From the jungle we come, in the jungle we stay.

Carrying home with us in a handful of water; The river that takes us, returns us and moves us.

My story, your story, our story, bound together from the same beginning, changing as time and space moves us apart.

I’ll tell you my story and you tell me yours.

And we’ll sit together and talk of days I don’t remember and you can’t forget…

You tell me how it all used to be and ask why it had to change.

Where did you go? And why did you leave?

You ask again and again.

At least you returned, no matter the time, at least you returned, my child, my sister, my friend.

______________________________

I’m the most interesting person anyone has ever met.

Who?

Me

You?

No, him

What?

That!

Really?

Yes

And you…?

Laughed

_______________________

I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have come. You don’t want me here. I can see that.

You said I could always come home, there would always be a place for me here. If I was every sick, cold, hungry or in pain, to just come home. No questions would be asked, just a warm plate of food, your fingers running through my hair, soft words of love and belief to coat me.

Words to wrap me up and cover my skin, that feels so naked without the touch of the warm body I slept next every night for so many years.

I can smell the heat in the air, although it’s really the autumn leaves I smell. I can taste the salt and spices of kolo mee on my tongue, although it’s really dry toast with strawberry jam that’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. I breath in and search for that feeling of comfort and childhood that the heat and spices always bring. But you ask:

“would you like another cup of tea”

NO. I want to scream at you. I want you to make me milo, to tell me how Stripey the towel went on an adventure and rescued his friends.

I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have assumed. You have a different life now. I can see.

I can see you wanting to comfort but not being able to. I can see you tensing up whenever I move to close to you. Just brush past you as I place the dishes in the dish washer.

You can see the pain. But you don’t want to ask why. It reminds you too much of your own. That you refuse to acknowledge. That you ran away from. You left a life and returned home. Home was not where it all went wrong. For you. Home was your haven, where you could pretend the breaking never happened.

I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t need to be here.

Mum can you hear me?! I shouldn’t need to be here!

I should never have been in that relationship!

“close the door sweetheart, a draft is coming in”

_______________________

Why did you marry?

Me

You

Why

Yes

I don’t know. Do you?

It felt right

Yes, I believed it was forever

I needed a visa

I needed a visa

Yes, I believed it was forever

It felt right

I don’t know. Do you?

Yes

Why

You

Me

Why did you marry?

_______________________

I use to tell myself a little story, about how I really married the wrong the brother. How I met the right brother too late. How if only I had patience, like mother told me to, I would have had the right brother and life would have been sailing off into the sunset.

But instead I saw a vision of almost perfection and, as I had taught myself to believe, perfection doesn’t exist, so I grabbed with two hands this possibility of what my life could be like!

I wanted yellow and I got beige.

I wanted an apple and bit into a pear.

I was almost there.

It was almost right,

And that was enough for me to believe, to give up the fight.

I had a dream of what my life could be like,

A dream I dreamt whilst others whispered white wedding dresses and ponies to themselves in the darkness of night.

I dreamed of adventures in far off lands, of pursuits, of hidden treasure and intellectual hands, covering my body and leading me to places my mind feared to go.

I saw him hand me these dreams and I saw that he could provide them all.

But I forgot to take into consideration his terrible personality.

And so, if I had been the good daughter my mother wanted me to be, one of patience and virtue, of all the right dreams, I would have got the right brother.

And that’s the little story I use to tell myself.

The story I will tell you. And the story I will always tell my mother.

But.

I wanted yellow but I chose beige.

_______________________

(each saying a sentence, it gets more frantic, a competition, doesn’t matter what sentences are said when, they get repeated often)

We were so young.

I go for arrogant, wanky bastards

I felt responsible

Guilty

He said – the problem with us was he was the most interesting person people ever meet!

The irony

Sex

I don’t know

In retrospect

He was a dick

I’ll be a spinster with a cat living with my sister

My thing

I would never date a vegetarian again.

If you add up the time we were actually in the same room

(stop, pause, ask each, the audience)

Why?

What happened?

What went wrong?

Something must have changed?

But you were so perfect together?

(ask each other, responding, light hearted)

Why?

What?

How?

When?

Who?

You?

Me?

Him?

You?

Me?

Him

Well, it wasn’t my fault!

(in unison, facing the audience)

Sentences, questions, thoughts, answers, answers, answers,

Sentences, questions, thoughts, answers, answers, answers,

Sentences, questions, thoughts, answers, answers, answers…

(Vera)…like neat little packages tied up with string… (pause)

(me) These are a few of your favourite things.

(unison)When the dog bites,

When the bees stings,

When I’m feeling sad,

(sing in unison)

I simply remember your favourite lines and then things don’t sound so bad.

Sound bites and reasons and gently excuses

Line after line from my lips and hand gestures

Silver white lies that melt into truth

These are a few of your favourite things

When the dog bites,

When the bees stings,

When I’m feeling sad,

I simply remember your favourite lines and then things don’t sound so bad.

(repeat, in competition with each other)

_______________________

Dear Mum

 

Hi Mum

 

I got married last week. To Patrick, who you may or may not remember - I am sure I must have mentioned him to you in my letters. (I suppose I haven’t written much in general so perhaps not.)

 

Well, anyway, we had a small ceremony in the registry office in Oxford after Christmas and well, I didn’t even tell Li, so it was just us and the witnesses.

 

So it’s been a month since he moved out. He only took his stuff.

 

Why? Well we didn’t want to be apart and thought this would be the most sensible course of action.

 

I mean he left anything that was ‘ours’. Didn’t even contest anything. I was ready to put up a fight for certain things, and negotiate other stuff. Like ‘ours’ wasn’t his, didn’t matter, he didn’t need, not anything to do with who he is.

So now I’m left with a home full of ‘us’.

(next two parapgraphs said in unison)

 

He is an archaeologist.

- I met him in a trench during my first year dig in Oxfordshire.

He’s American. He’s working on some very exciting research at the moment. But he also is looking into some other, non-archaeological projects too. And worryingly, some political things. I think he’s thinking of going off to Jordan, or Palestine. He doesn’t really tell me much. But I am sure it’ll be very exciting either way.

 

God, what do I do with this house full of stuff? It’s the practical things I struggle with. How much milk do I need to buy? Do I need to buy milk? I don’t drink it… but it seems the right thing to do, to always have milk in the fridge. Should I hang up all my clothes, just to fill the empty side of the wardrobe?

 

I know you don’t want to hear about it, even though you pretend you so.

 

I’m sorry

 

We’ve been living together for a while, since I graduated from college I guess.

We live in a small terrace house with his brother but we’ll probably get a place so that we’re not ‘wasting rent’. And so that he can leave his stuff when he’s not in the country. I don’t know yet what I will do with myself. I have been thinking of drama school. I want to be a director I think, but think the best way to do this is to train as an actor. I don’t know how this will fit in with Pat’s plans.

 

I told dad.

 

His dad if an ex-marine firefighter, so pretty macho.

 

Finally. I’m not allowed to tell anyone else there.

As I thought, he’s ashamed of me.

 

We haven’t told his family either  but perhaps I’ll meet them soon.

 

Well, he was very nice and supportive and wrote me a lovely letter. But on face value, I guess he’s ashamed his eldest child has got herself in this position. Especially when part of the demise was my reluctance to go home, to return from London, to where there is family. Why wouldn’t I want that? When my husband did? What a disaster, I’m not even 27 and I’m heading for divorce. After such a big fanfare of a wedding. It’s awful but I almost understand it.

 

More than I understand your silence.

 

This marriage thing isn’t a big deal.

I suppose it’s a disappointment to you that I didn’t hold a big family do but it’s not what we wanted.

 

I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to mention that he’s got a new girlfriend, because they loved him so much they would be upset at that idea. What does that mean? But that’s the truth mum, he’s with someone else, because he left me for her. So I have to answer all these questions after questions, without telling the truth, because it might upset other people.

If I was different, if I wanted other things, he wouldn’t have left me. He wouldn’t have left me for her.

That’s the truth.

 

It seems like such a waste of time and effort and for who?

 

It’ll be easier to pretend I’m still married when I go back to Malaysia, lying about the fact that my ‘husband’ isn’t there because he’s working, is so much  easier, it’s just one line, than trying to think of a reason of why my marriage broke up without mentioning her, that’s a multiple of lines.

 

How about I let you pick your favourite and I’ll just say that.

 

Also, timing wise, we needed to sort out my visa. It wouldn’t make sense to leave for Malaysia and then try to work out which country I needed to be in after.

 

Also why wait? Who are we getting married for? Ourselves, yeah, quite selfishly I guess. Oh dear, us two daughters abroad and not being in any way the good children you probably wanted.

 

I heard that Adrian thought that you are finding it difficult to see the break up as anything but my choice. That it was completely decision. That the daughter you brought up to be so strong and independent wouldn’t let her heart be broken as such, that she wouldn’t let something happen to her, but she would happen to the world!

 

Well, I failed you mum, it did happen to me, I didn’t choose this.

 

You did stop talking to me for years and didn’t even know that I was even coming to England when I did. That was awkward, coming back the first time.

 

Or maybe that’s the line I need to tell myself, that I am the victim, it was beyond my control, so that I don’t feel it was my fault I have a failed marriage.

 

You’re not really a part of my life and I don’t know what you being at my wedding would have added.

 

You see, this way, I’m not a failure.

 

Charity towards you? Expenditure? A lot more fuss.

 

Please, let me just have one story that is my own.

 

You probably wouldn’t approve of him anyway.

 

If you do ever read this letter, I’m sorry I broke your heart.

_______________________

Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink

I don’t remember the rest of the poem?

Maybe Keats didn’t write anymore?

He did!

Does it matter? I mean, this is the line that means something to you. This is the line that makes sense to you. Of his whole poem, this is the only line that matters, to you.

Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink

Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink

Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink

Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink

But the truth is, there is more.

Does it matter?

I don’t know…

Have we finished?

I think so?

So do I.

(Vera climbs ladder, cuts down ‘weaving’, we pack up it up in a suitcase and carry it off stage)

Shhhh…. Lean closer, I’ll tell you a secret, the truth about what really happened…

What happens when you tell a story, again and again and again? Sometimes it becomes something new, sometimes it reinforces an idea, and sometimes you start believing it and somehow, it becomes “the truth”!

But what is truth?

Two women discover an identity of themselves far from their place of childhood and home, far from their mothers’ ideas of who they were supposed to be, far from the vision they had of themselves, but closer to the women they want to be.

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